


apples & cream

by LovesBitca8



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, Drabble, Draco Malfoy is an Ass Man, F/M, Inspired by Art, One Night Stands, with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovesBitca8/pseuds/LovesBitca8
Summary: She could have taken her things and gone through his Floo without a word. She could have ignored him on Monday morning, as though last night had been no more than a fever dream and too much Firewhisky.But she’d come back to bed.Inspired by the lovely NikitaJuice's "apples & cream."
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 86
Kudos: 2138
Collections: Best of DMHG





	apples & cream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nikitajobson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikitajobson/gifts).



> Thanks to raven_maiden for beta’ing and to Nikita for being so crazy good.

[ ](https://imgur.com/zVKLnO6)

His bed would smell like her.

That was all he could think of as he gazed at her closed eyelids, lashes fluttering against her cheekbones.

His bed would smell like her for _days_ if he didn't change his sheets. The scent of something crisp and sweet, maybe a mix of cinnamon. The same scent he'd chased in the corridors of the Ministry whenever she came to scream at him. The same from school as well.

She must have gotten up in the night while he slept and pulled on his button-up shirt — which would smell like her too — because she was wearing it now, twisted up in his white sheets, on her stomach with one arm under a pillow and the other stretched out, her fingers almost touching his.

But she'd gotten up… and come back to bed.

He'd been out cold. She could have taken her things and gone through his Floo without a word. She could have ignored him on Monday morning, as though last night had been no more than a fever dream and too much Firewhisky.

But she'd come back to bed.

A small sound purred from her throat, too soft to be a snore, too pure to be a moan. Her lips pressed together, like she was correcting his reports in her dreams. Or maybe tutoring Transfiguration to unsuspecting third years.

And he was suddenly gripped by the need to know what she dreamed of.

A buzzing from his bedside table. He frowned and turned quickly, reaching for his charmed wristwatch.

The hand with Godfried's face on it had ticked slowly to "Office."

 _Fuck_.

Of all the timing.

The reports that needed to be in Godfried's box by 5 p.m. yesterday were sitting on Draco's desk, hanging in anticipation of two final signatures — something he'd promptly forgotten when she'd walked by his office yesterday at 4:45 and said, "Will you be at the pub?"

Carefully, he rolled back to face her. She was unperturbed, her curls stirring with every puff of her lips. He blinked, drinking in the light freckles scattered across her bare shoulder.

Godfried rarely came into the office on Saturdays, but of course _this_ Saturday… when Draco had Hermione Granger in his bed…

But as it was, now Godfried would know that he didn't get the reports into his box.

It was half-past six in the morning. All he needed to do was Floo into his office fireplace, sign the damn things, walk them to Godfried with some kind of excuse, and then Floo back into his bedroom and slither back between the sheets as if he'd never left.

And then, possibly, he could see how she felt about round two.

He slid out of bed, weaving his way through his room to retrieve a fresh pair of trousers and shoes. He grabbed a shirt from his closet, and when he turned to button it, he finally got a good look at her in his bed.

Still asleep, one leg curled up, and her arse facing him.

He stirred in his trousers.

Fuck. He needed to fuck her like this.

Last night she'd been on her back, her eyes clear and intent on him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders — and then she'd been briefly on top, her tits bouncing as she moaned and squeezed his cock in her release.

But he hadn't had a decent look at her backside. Creamy white skin rounded over perfect globes he'd dug his fingers into. He could again. He could pull her up on her knees and push her shoulders into the mattress as he spread her open. Would she let him lap at her? Drag his teeth over her cheeks and leave his bite marks all over her perfect arse?

The arse that had been squeezed into tight skirts for three years, swaying in the corridors or brushing across his hip in the lifts with a mortified apology on her lips and a hot blush on her cheeks.

The sleepy purr from her throat drifted across the room again. And he realized he was at half-mast. He ran a hand through his hair, tearing his eyes from her.

He adjusted his cock in his trousers and slipped on one shoe. By the time the second shoe was on and laces tied, she was awake, sitting up and watching him.

He froze, half-bent over.

"I thought I was the one who was supposed to slip out in the morning," she said, voice groggy and hoarse. And he swallowed at the memory of her strangled cries from the night before that had caused it.

"Yes. No. I mean." He squeezed his eyes closed and drew a slow breath. "I have to be in the office for three minutes — truly _three minutes_. I meant to come back and… promptly get back into bed."

She rubbed her eyes sleepily, and he forgot the reason he was leaving.

"I can go." She stood, brushing her fingers through her curls. His shirt hugged her curves. "I shouldn't have assumed — er, stayed the night. I can be out of here—"

"Please don't." His entire body froze. "I mean to say, you don't have to go anywhere. I'd… I'd like to continue, or, er…"

She turned toward him, the curve of her breasts peeking through the flaps of his rumpled shirt. "Continue sleeping?" She stretched, and her stomach pulled taut, revealing a flash of her rosy nipple. She reached down and grabbed her knickers, tugging them up quickly before he could stop her.

He stood gaping at her as she shifted, retrieving her bra. She shouldn't— He didn't want her to—

"I'd like it if you were here when I got back." His ears were hot and his palms clammy.

She fumbled with the clasp behind her back, blinking up at him. "Oh?"

"Yes, I'd like to fuck you again." He winced. "But also breakfast… if you'd like."

Her cheeks burned a pretty shade of pink as she looked down at his carpets.

"Those are two different things." She laughed nervously, the sound dancing through the room.

 _They don't have to be_ , he thought darkly.

"Well, I'd like one more than the other, but I'm not picky."

Her eyes flickered up to his. "You don't need to be so… I mean, if you thought last night was a mistake, or just a bit of fun, I'd understand—"

"Three minutes," he growled.

She bit her lip. "Three minutes?"

"Less. Two. I'll run."

He spun to the fireplace.

"Alright, maybe I'll take a shower then—"

"No!" He twirled back to her, the jar of Floo powder in hand. "Er, don't."

She stared at him, and the skin of his neck burned beneath his collar. Only she could make him act like this much of an idiot.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped the pot of powder on the mantle and stepped close to her, tugging on the flaps of his shirt that she wore. "If you shower then you won't smell like you."

"Smell like me?"

She blinked up at him, her hazy brown eyes round and searching. And he thought of the day he'd started at the Ministry, and the look she'd given him when he walked through the doors. There had been a wariness in her eyes then. But now there was something else. Anticipation. Maybe even hope.

"Yes," he whispered, steeled by the thrumming in his veins. "I like it." Slowly, he peeled the shirt from her shoulders, letting it hang loose from her elbows, and brought his face to her neck. "Something spicy and crisp."

He watched shivers break out across her skin as his hands dropped to her waist. One hand slithered around her ribs, pressing her torso close. The other slipped down over her knickers, filling his palm with the most perfect arse cheek.

"It's—it's just an old lotion I've used for years," she gasped.

 _Yes, I know_.

He nuzzled his face into her shoulder, brushing his lips across her neck.

"Something called — Apples and Cream," she managed.

He groaned into her skin, the hand on her backside squeezing, imagining pumping into her with both hands on her arse, her scent surrounding him as her cunt squeezed him.

Slowly, his lips brushed her neck, her jaw. Her lips. "Stay."

She nodded when he pulled away, her eyes lidded and dazed.

Apples and Cream. That was it.

He'd buy her thousands of bottles. Make her bathe in it.

And fuck her every night with his nose buried in her skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://lovesbitca8.tumblr.com/) and [ Twitter ](https://twitter.com/LovesBitca8).
> 
> Find Nikita on [ Tumblr ](https://nikitajobson.tumblr.com/).


End file.
